Don’t you understand?  I did not want to blow my own trumpet—­joke, see? (A laugh.) Thank you!  And now about the Irish Question.  Well everybody harps upon it.  So will I. “Come back to Erin.” (Plays and sings the touching melody—­a harp accompaniment—­applause.) Thank you!  And now about the Triple Alliance.  Well, I think I can illustrate that, both musically and politically.  Triple means three.  Well, I will take this drum on my back, beating it with the sticks that are bound to my shoulders; then I will apply my mouth to this set of pipes, while I beat a triangle with my hands.  There! (Plays the musical instruments simultaneously—­applause.) Thank you!  You see I get some sort of music.  A little unattractive possibly ("No! no!"), but still sufficiently pleasing to elicit your admiration. ("Hear, hear!”) Thank you!  Well, this effect reminds me of the Triple Alliance.  We may take the drum to represent Italy, the set of pipes Germany, always fond of making a shrill noise, and the triangle will ably represent Austria.  See? (Great applause.) And now I am very unwilling to weary you further. ("No, no!”) Thank you!  But I myself have an appointment which I must keep, so therefore, I must conclude my entertainment—­I should say speech.  Otherwise you would grow weary of me? ("No, no!”) Thank you!  But before bidding you good-bye, I must sing you one more song that I think will please everybody.  It is called “Home Sweet Home.” (Thunders of applause.) And now I will just get the right key and fire away. (He tunes up harp, and prepares to play.) And now, Ladies and Gentlemen, silence please, while I sing the most touching song in my repertoire. (Sings with immense feeling, “Home, Sweet Home.") Now then, Ladies and Gentlemen, chorus, please—­

  “Home, sweet home! 
    Where’er we wander,
  There’s no place like ho—­o—­o—­ome!”

    [The chorus is repeated as Mr. FARMER-ATKINSON disappears
    behind a curtain on the platform, and the audience fade away.

* * * * *

A PENNY FRENCH—­TWOPENCE BRITISH.

(A FRAGMENT FROM A ROMANCE OF THE G.P.O.)

The youth, without a moment’s hesitation, dashed manfully into the sea.  He was watched by the excited spectators, who cheered him as he breasted the waves that beat against the head of the Admiralty Pier.  It must, indeed, have been a great prize in view that could have caused such a daring feat.  That was the thought of the old Coast-guardsman, as he watched the lad (he was scarcely more than a boy) as he took stroke after stroke for Calais.  Now he rested on the back of a treacherous porpoise that soon cast him away.

[Illustration]

“Will the steamboat lend him a helping hand, or rather rope?” muttered the veteran salt, as he watched the seemingly fragile figure of the swimmer.  “Ah, by Neptune! well done!  Strike me flat with a lubberly marling-spike, but a kindly act indeed!”